


Doctor Doom's Orders

by laireshi



Category: Iron Man (Comic), Marvel 616
Genre: Dom/sub, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Light Bondage, M/M, Magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-04
Updated: 2016-08-04
Packaged: 2018-07-29 09:24:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7679038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laireshi/pseuds/laireshi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Come with me,” Doom says. “I’ll show you what to do.”</p><p>Tony follows.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Doctor Doom's Orders

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for beta to [Valmasy](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Valmasy/pseuds/Valmasy)! Also thanks for all the doomtony talks and support to [Comicsohwhyohwhy](http://archiveofourown.org/users/comicsohwhyohwhy) :)
> 
> This is set after the last Invincible Iron Man issue (2015 series, issue 012), after [these panels](https://laireshi.tumblr.com/post/148389028812/come-with-me-ill-show-you-what-to-do) where Tony leaves with Doom, no questions asked. Some of the dialogue in the first scene is taken from this issue.
> 
> I made [a post](https://laireshi.tumblr.com/post/148406812907/okay-but-also-doom-saying-come-with-me-ill-show) asking for a more NSFW version of how the comic could follow; lastdream also wrote a very hot fic, [Then Trust Me](http://archiveofourown.org//works/7674034).
> 
> The porn grew a bit of angst, but that's kind of to be expected with me, isn't it?

Rhodey is dead, Bruce is dead, the Stark Tower is just a pile of stones, and ten Stark Industries employees are dead. Carol betrayed him. The superheroes are fighting each other again.

It has to be just a bad dream, right, because Tony can’t deal with it if it’s not.

Does it matter if it’s real if he can’t wake up anyway? He feels like screaming. He makes himself breathe. It’s like walls are closing in around him and there’s no escape.

It’s just his board, just MJ, just Maria Hill and her agents, everyone watching Tony, waiting for him to fall down or explode, watching him like he’s _volatile—_ he is, he thinks, he is, the only thing stopping him from breaking something is that he’s not sure if he’d rather hurt himself or someone else.

He wants to stop; he can’t. Too much is at stake, and it all depends on him, and—it’s almost mocking, the rubble of Stark Tower, of everything he’s built and rebuilt and now he’s tired of rebuilding all the time.

“I don’t know what I _should_ do,” he says. “Rhodey would know.” Rhodey _always_ knew and he was gone and Tony couldn’t imagine tomorrow. “There’s a fifteen-year-old girl in Chicago that knows.” Riri’s open and optimistic and wants to see the future. “But I—” Tony’s lost it all. He’s not sure he has it in himself to get up again. “I—”

“I know,” Doom’s smooth voice says.

Tony raises his head. 

Doom is right there, as if he’s never disappeared from Tony’s life, as if he thinks he can stroll right back in, as if everything is still fine when nothing is—his hand is outstretched, a clear offer. 

Tony thinks he’d give a lot to be whisked away from there; Doom or not.

(The truth is, he’d go with Doom anywhere, but that’s neither here nor there.)

“Come with me,” Doom says, completely self-assured. “I’ll show you what to do.”

It can’t work like that. Tony wants to agree anyway.

“Who the hell is this?” MJ asks, clearly, and rightly so, wary. 

Tony doesn’t tear his eyes away from Doom as he answers, “Victor von Doom.”

Maria Hill starts yelling orders. Tony’s vaguely aware there are guns trained on Doom—but Doom can deal with them, and it’s not as important as the fact that suddenly he’s just an arm’s reach away.

“What do _you_ have to show _me_?” Tony needs information, he tells himself.

“You’ll _see_ ,” Doom replies, just like Tony thought he would.

“You’re such an ass. Really,” Tony sighs. He doesn’t care that it sounds more fond than annoyed. Doom feels like salvation, now, and isn’t that ironic?

“Stop!” Maria Hill barks, but Tony stays silent, just inches towards Doom; Doom wouldn’t take him anywhere if Tony said no, except Tony, of course, wants to go.

Anywhere but here. 

(Anywhere but in his own skin, and that’s a much worse problem.)

The teleportation spell feels almost _warm_ , and as much as Tony hates magic, he’s comfortable now. When the light disappears from around them, they’re standing in a spacious, obviously expensively furnitured room. It probably is Victor’s, not just a hotel—there’s something in the air vaguely like incense, crackling atmosphere like in the Sanctum Sanctorum—but Tony really doesn’t care, because they’re finally alone.

He thought he wanted to be completely alone—but that’s not true, he realises. He’s glad Doom is there. He can’t be anywhere with just his thoughts for company. Everything’s too dark, too—wrong.

“Tony,” Doom says.

Their situation finally sets in, and Tony takes a sharp step back, away from Doom.

“What do you want,” Tony says, without any inflection.

“I thought it was about what _you_ wanted, Anthony,” Doom says, and god, Tony _hates_ the way he pronounces his full name, all heavy accent he doesn’t normally show and charm; it’s making Tony want to lean in and forget everything.

 _No_.

“We fucked,” Tony says bluntly. “And then you disappeared for what, months? And now you expect me—”

Doom’s eyes remain calm, but his face changes, a brief flicker of hurt running through it; he’s clearly not yet used not to wearing a mask. Another time, Tony would focus on that. Now, there’s just too much of everything.

“How can you know,” Doom says, his voice low, “if I disappeared, if you were gone for _months_ yourself?”

Tony opens his mouth to answer, but Doom continues.“ _You made me think you were dead_ ,” he says, and his voice raises towards the end, before he visibly composes himself. “I didn’t _disappear_ , Anthony. I had run into an issue, of the more magical kind. It had taken me a few days to solve it.”

 _An issue_ , and that sounds serious, and god Tony’s so out of it all. He feels bad. “You—you could’ve asked for help—”

“Doom doesn’t beg,” Doom replies with a steel look.

Tony laughs hysterically. “No, of course not, and then you could’ve ended up dead—” Like too many other people Tony cares about these days.

“Would you care?” Doom asks.

Tony wants to laugh again, because he’s just discovering that yes, he apparently would, _he does_ , and it’s the last thing he needs in this hell of a situation. 

He slides to the floor—soft, lush carpet that feels like it could swallow him whole. It’s Doom’s, so maybe it can; Tony kinda hopes so.

He can’t deal with it all. He can’t deal with Doom showing up and apparently he can’t deal with the thought of him dying, either.

He can’t deal with _Rhodey_ and he thinks he’s shaking again, every time he remembers Rhodey he shatters into smaller pieces still. 

He can’t deal with this civil war they have coming.

Then Doom’s arms are around him, surprisingly warm, unsurprisingly strong—Doom forged his own armour too, just like Tony—but the familiarity comes from somewhere else; Doom’s hands on Tony’s naked hips, Doom’s body between Tony’s spread legs, Doom fucking him, slowly, and a whisper of a name on Tony’s lips, _Victor_.

“You’re falling apart,” Doom says, like it’s an observation, and Tony realises he hasn’t actually answered him yet.

“I would care, I would, I—”

“I know,” Doom interrupts, almost gently.

“I’m so lost,” Tony says, because it might be the only thing he’s sure of.

“I know,” Doom repeats. 

He kisses Tony, steadily, and it’s almost more comforting than sexual.

“I know what you need,” Doom says, and he’s so confident, Tony believes him.

Doom stands up, lifting Tony with him; he keeps his arms securely around Tony until Tony can stand on his own again.

(If only it were that easy.)

Doom seems amused, now, his lips still wet from the kiss, but when he speaks, he’s completely serious. “Strip.”

Tony’s hands are at his own neck, fumbling with the first buttons, before he can remember he’s not all that good with orders.

Clearly he can be, at times.

He’s not sure what’s happening—he can guess, but he’s not sure, and he doesn’t want to guess, he’s a futurist and he’s only failed, he wants the here and now, he wants _not to be lost_.

He gets his shirt off in a haze, reaches for his belt, and then Doom’s hands are on his wrists, stopping his movements.

“Anthony,” he says. “I can give you what you need, but you need to be completely sure you want me to. You do not seem to be quite here, as it were.”

Tony blinks a few times until he can see clear again. Doom seems almost worried now, frowning—only his eyes are as impassive as ever. 

“I want it,” Tony promises. “Just—just make me stop thinking.”

 _Make me hurt_ , but he’s not sure he really wants that, and he’s not sure Doom would. Not now.

Doom steps back again, nods.

Tony gets his belt open, and then he’s sliding his underwear and trousers down at once, puts them over his shirt. He realises he’s still in his socks, and he knows he must look ridiculous, but he doesn’t even care as he bends down to take them off.

Then he straightens, completely naked, _bare_ , without even his armour, in front of Doom.

Doom, who didn’t even deign to so much as loosen his tie.

“Good,” Doom says. “Now follow me.”

Tony doesn’t think. He goes after Doom, down a dimly lit corridor and into another room—this one a bedroom, he realises. The curtains over the windows are closed; they’re letting in some light, but Tony has no idea what’s outside. He doesn’t care about that, either.

He wants Doom to touch him again. Kiss him. _Be gentle_ with him. 

He’s pathetic.

Doom’s eyes are on him as Doom shrugs off his suit jacket. He tilts his head for a few seconds, then ask, “perhaps you would like to help me with that?”

It’s phrased like a question, but it’s just another order, and Tony nods gratefully. 

He touches Doom’s cheek, first, slowly. Doom takes in a long, steadying breath—and Tony understands.

They fucked once. It was good, but it was also fast. More passion; less . . . care.

“You’re so damn handsome it’s unfair,” Tony breathes out, and he leans in and kisses Doom before he can reply.

This is not how this game works, he knows, and he doesn’t want it, but he fully expects Doom to hit him, now—but Doom just blinks quickly a few times, and stays silent, his eyes heavy on Tony’s face.

“Do not lie to me.”

“Doom, hate to break it to you, but I really don’t have the emotional capacity for lying to be nice right now, so you’re stuck with the honest me, and everyone agrees that one’s a jerk. Aaand I’m babbling.”Tony clamps a hand on his own mouth.

Doom chuckles. “You are,” he confirms, his eyes somehow lighter now.

“Right.” _Focus_ , Tony tells himself.

He opens Doom’s tie slowly, careful not to wrinkle the silk, and then runs his fingers over Doom’s neck. God, he missed touching someone, he missed the intimacy. He thinks of the last time he did this—it may have been Doom.

It’s weirdly fitting and a bit scary.

He sets the tie on a chair, delicately, and comes back to unbutton Doom’s shirt. Dark green suits him, Tony decides, as one by one he uncovers pale, unblemished skin. 

He leans in, presses a kiss between Doom’s clavicles, licks down to his nipple. Doom takes in a shuddering breath. Tony relaxes minutely; it’s such a foreign sensation to him now, to _make someone feel good_ , in whatever way, and he missed it.

He licks a stripe to the other nipple, plays with it. Doom doesn’t stop him. Doesn’t rush him. His breath quickens, but he stays still under Tony’s hands and lips. Tony moves back up, kisses Doom’s pulse point, feels it fluttering wildly. 

Doom’s hand settles on the back of Tony’s head, plays with his hair. “Continue,” he says, but his voice is kind.

Tony lets himself lean into the touch for less than a second, and then he drops to his knees. He opens Doom’s belt, slides it out and puts it on the floor to his right, and then he presses his cheek against Doom’s crotch, feels him hot and hard even through the good material of the trousers. 

Tony thinks he’s hard too, but it’s almost an afterthought. It’s not . . . important.

He opens the button carefully, then slowly pulls down the zipper. Doom’s lean, the trousers easily slide down his legs, and he helps Tony, steps out of the trouser legs.

Tony mouths at Doom’s cock through his underwear—dark violet, tight boxers that make Tony’s mouth water. 

_Unfairly sexy_ , he thinks, and distantly he realises his awareness shifted to Doom and Doom alone, that it’s _good_.

Doom grows harder at Tony’s touch. Then he speaks, “Anthony, I believe I told you to undress me,” and he sounds out of breath when before he’d only ever been composed.

Tony obediently pulls the boxers down, but as soon as he puts them away, he’s back kneeling at Doom’s feet, looking up at him.

Doom seems to consider this. 

He puts his finger under Tony’s chin, pulls up, so Tony stands up, even as he wanted nothing more than to suck Doom at the moment. Then Doom pulls him in, close, until they’re touching all over; their cocks sliding against each other, and then Doom kisses him. 

It’s sloppy, this time, Doom’s tongue in Tony’s mouth and Tony just wants to let him in, never break the kiss. He reaches for Doom and tries to kiss him back, thinks _how best to do it_ and _I can do better_ and—

Doom puts a hand on Tony’s chest. “None of that,” he chides. 

“I’m sorry—” 

“None of that, either,” Doom says, still holding Tony close, and then—

It’s like a wave of electricity goes through him, except Tony’s got experience with that and it’s nothing similar apart from how it lights up all his nervous endings; he thinks he’s screaming but maybe he can’t make any sounds. The sensation is everywhere at once, and it’s burning and cooling in equal measures, but not painful, just— _arousing_. He wants to tense but his muscles are too relaxed, and everything feels like pure bliss.

When it’s gone, Tony realises it’s only Doom—Victor—still holding him up, and he’s a bit surprised he hasn’t come.

It must’ve been magic, Tony realises, _Victor’s magic_ , and he thinks he might learn to love it, if only Victor _never stopped_.

“Are you with me?” Victor asks, and Tony nods desperately. 

Victor smiles. 

“Lie on your back,” he says. “Hands over your head.”

A shiver goes through Tony as he moves to listen, lies down on the giant bed, on top of the covers. It’s soft, and the covers are nice to the touch, and it’s all so damn nice he thinks he could cry. He doesn’t deserve it.

Victor climbs on top of him, their bodies sliding together again, and Victor doesn’t seem to mind the coolness of the RT as he presses down on Tony and kisses him, and Tony closes his eyes tight and kisses back.

“Open your eyes,” Victor says, and Tony does, meets Victor’s dark eyes. “Move your hands.”

Tony tries—and can’t. There isn’t any physical restraint that he can feel, but there’s something stopping him from moving his wrists at all. Another spell, must be, and Tony doesn’t mind. More than that: he feels safe.

He can’t fuck anything up if he can’t move.

And he trusts that Victor won’t hurt him. 

Victor gives him a long look, and Tony wonders if he’s said anything out loud, but it doesn’t matter, Victor is here and Victor has him.

“Quite,” Victor says. “Now relax.” 

He slides a finger inside Tony, slowly, carefully; he’s slick with something warm. Tony breathes in and out and realises he _is_ completely relaxed, no muscle tension at all; he feels a bit like he’s swimming. Nothing is sharp anymore but the feeling of Victor’s fingers stretching him—two now, still so careful.

It’s still so nice just to be touched non-violently, and Tony really doesn’t deserve that.

“I said I’d show you what to do,” Victor whispers in Tony’s ear, still moving his fingers at that agonizing slow speed. “Don’t worry.”

“I don’t, I—”

Victor slides in his third finger, and Tony gasps. It’s still not painful, but it’s a weird kind of burn, and he loves it, he wants more.

He’s ready, he’s been ready for what feels like ages, but this is nice too, he could stay like that, at Victor’s mercy, his hands held down with magic and his worries away and—

Victor must’ve removed his fingers, because now he’s sliding into Tony, and his cock is bigger but it still doesn’t hurt.

He knows exactly what he’s doing, of course, and he’s holding himself up on his arms over Tony, is so completely in control. 

His first thrusts are shallow, and then he hits Tony’s prostate, and Tony wants to arch up, but Victor’s weight and spell hold him down. Victor doesn’t even touch his cock, but he doesn’t need to; Tony’s hard and everything feels just perfect, he—

“Don’t,” Victor whispers, and Tony tries to breathe, tries to hold himself together.

He pulls on his wrists and he thinks he screams as Victor keeps hitting in just the right place, and Victor only quickens his movements, only the sweat on his forehead betraying that he’s not as calm as he acts.

It’s—Tony’s hands, tied up with Victor’s magic, the feeling of Victor’s cock in him, Victor’s body on him, and Victor’s hands caressing him all over and Victor’s smell around him—it’s all physical sensations and it’s all Victor and it’s everything Tony’s wanted and didn’t realise. 

He’s gasping, his control all but gone, and then Victor stops moving, buried deep in him. 

He touches Tony’s cock, finally, just the tip—and it’s like ice and fire again, the perfect balance, and an alien kind of energy making Tony shiver—the spell on his wrists disappears, and he reaches for Victor and holds onto him as he comes, shivering, chanting Victor’s name like it’s the only thing keeping him sane.

He feels Victor come inside him, moments later, but he’s silent—and then he kisses Tony, and Tony keeps on holding onto him.

Tony makes a sound of protest as Victor slides out of him, but Victor just pats his cheek. “Stay here,” he says, and goes somewhere.

He comes back with two towels, one of them damp, and cleans Tony up. He’s as fresh as if he just showered himself. Probably magic again, but Tony doesn’t mind as Doom wipes him clean, gently, always gently.

“You can stay here,” Victor says finally, and the reality catches up to Tony.

He doesn’t have this. Not really. There’s a war that won’t wait for him. He has to—

“No,” Victor says. “I _will_ help you. I will tell you what to do. I wasn’t lying. Tomorrow, Anthony. Today, you can stay here . . . And I can promise you, if anyone thinks to harm you, they will have to deal with Doom.”

Tony can remember the scary figure behind the mask when Victor makes his promise, and he feels safe.

“Thank you,” he whispers.

“Doom takes care of his people,” Victor answers, and then lies next to Tony, holds him in his arms.


End file.
